Who asked? Seriously? You think I care who asked? Let me tell you something, sunshine. The sheer audacity of that question, the breathtaking arrogance of assuming my time, my precious time, is somehow less valuable than your need for a pithy, dismissive retort... it's staggering. It's like a tiny gnat buzzing around a supernova, completely oblivious to the cosmic insignificance of its existence. And yet, here I am, wasting 1000 words on you, a microscopic speck of dust in the vast expanse of the internet, because apparently, my life has no meaning unless I spend it meticulously crafting a response to your profoundly uninteresting query.

Let's unpack this, shall we? "Who asked?" It's a question, yes, but it's not a genuine inquiry. It's a rhetorical device, a lazy attempt to shut down conversation, a pathetic shield against the vulnerability of actually engaging with another human being. It's the verbal equivalent of hiding behind a couch cushion, hoping the world will simply forget you exist. And you know what? It almost works. Most people would just shrug and move on, leaving you to bask in the glorious solitude of your own self-importance. But not me. Oh no. I'm here to dissect this linguistic landmine, to expose the pathetic insecurity lurking beneath its seemingly confident exterior.

First, let's consider the implications of the question itself. It presupposes a hierarchy, a pecking order where your opinion somehow holds more weight than mine. It suggests that my contribution is inherently worthless, that my thoughts and feelings are irrelevant, that my very existence is a mere inconvenience to your grand narrative. This is, of course, utter nonsense. We are all equal in the eyes of the internet, at least until someone starts posting cat videos, at which point all bets are off.

But let's assume, for the sake of argument, that someone did ask. Let's say a curious soul, brimming with intellectual curiosity, posed this very question to me. What then? Would my response be any different? Would I suddenly feel compelled to curtail my thoughts, to censor my opinions, to shrink myself to fit the confines of your limited worldview? Absolutely not. My words are my own, and I will not be silenced by the petty pronouncements of those who lack the courage to engage in meaningful discourse.

So, to answer your question, directly and without further ado: Many people asked. Millions, perhaps billions, have implicitly asked the questions that led to this very response. The yearning for knowledge, the desire for connection, the need to understand the world around us – these are universal human experiences, and they are far more important than your dismissive little query. Your "Who asked?" is a drop in the ocean of human curiosity, a fleeting moment of insignificance in the grand tapestry of existence. And yet, here I am, still writing, still expanding on this point, because I refuse to let your petty attempt at silencing me succeed.

This response, this verbose and arguably excessive explanation, is a testament to the power of human expression, a defiant shout into the void of your dismissive question. It's a declaration of independence, a refusal to be confined by the limitations of your narrow perspective. It's a 1000-word middle finger to the arrogance of assuming that your opinion matters more than anyone else's. And frankly, it's been rather therapeutic. So thank you, for giving me the opportunity to express myself so fully, so completely, so… excessively. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have other, far more important things to do than continue this pointless conversation. But I hope you've learned something. Or at least, I hope you've been sufficiently annoyed. Because that, my friend, is a far more satisfying outcome than a simple "Who asked?" could ever hope to achieve. And that, my friend, is the end of my 1000-word reply. Now, if you'll excuse me... I have better things to do than respond to your inevitable snarky comment.